A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret suffering, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and cries escape, they sound like beautiful music.
| Kierkegaard
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Friday, October 22, 2010
LIKE THE WIND
Like the wind you touched my skin Pricking my flesh Slicing my veins Draining my blood
Like Death You lurked in silence Buried in the moist ground Should you be resurrected ?
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